


Small Hands

by Cyndakrm



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Option, Conscription, Custom Warden, Gen, Grey Warden - Freeform, Jowan Conscription, Option 3, Other, Saving Jowan, Warden Jowan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 12:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9896078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyndakrm/pseuds/Cyndakrm
Summary: He felt a bit struck. He knew that this was going to be the result the moment the little mage stated he was going to be conscripted but...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired from the song [Small Hands by Keaton Henson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NDfRVe7LYs).
> 
> I've always felt that the song rather accurately described Jowan and his actions or feelings during his life. I've never once _not_ supported Jowan in the innumerable amount of times I've replayed Dragon Age: Origins. Maybe I'm a little horrified that most people kill him, I don't know. Never being able to add him to my party has always hit me the wrong way, however. Especially with the knowledge that it had been a possibility in the original game making.
> 
> Anyway, this is of course written with a custom Surana. His name is Amralime, he is a male elf mage.
> 
> I hope this is an enjoyable read!

There was nothing but silence in the hall of Redcliff.

Both men stared each other down. The one, old and withered, but still commanding all the regal poise and stature that came with his title. There was a barely contained anger in his eyes and it spoke of his outrage at the current situation and the way it seemed to be heading, but his tongue was held tight, his mouth tasting the next words he would say with utmost caution. He was a wise man, one who heeded every year of experience in his long life with an open ear, willing to listen, to understand. Which he did, he understood what was going to happen now. Though, one shouldn't be surprised that he didn't at all like it. He already knew the answer he would need to give to come out of this without someone's blood – likely that of his men – decorating the palace floors. Still, he was angry, and those words must taste like bile in his mouth.

Across from him, bright eyes shimmered in a near glow against the light of the steady fire behind his elderly opponent. These eyes were large and dazzlingly beautiful, much like the small elf that adorned them. The deceivingly delicate creature stood with an absoluteness that was usually only found in the most devout of men. Those who would do whatever it takes... The elf's men stood behind him. There was the large Qunari, daring any man to so much as twitch in the wrong direction. The elven assassin, looking amused enough, though his grin was wild and whispered of a malicious glee for conflict, should it arise. His only surviving companion, the other Warden, whose body stood tense with a face that pleaded to the elder man for this be resolved peaceably. Then the Warden mage himself. Jowan thinks to himself – now as a shiver of terror runs up his spine, daring him to release his anxious breath – that he's forgotten how monstrous his dearest friend could look when there was a threat presented to those he loved; And maybe that made him a little more whole again, on the inside. To know that, despite everything he'd done and how blatantly he had lied to the friend who had never once faltered in supporting him, that Amral was still there to stand between him and harm.

He didn't deserve this, this love and devotion. This frail boy who'd come into the circle so lost, so small, so willing to defend him with his life – willing to kill for him, despite the consequences. He knew this was why he would be allowed to go free. He knew the Arl could see that the life of him or his men were easily dispensable compared to the blood mage that lost him his wife, and Jowan couldn't even imagine how much of a slap to the face that must be to comprehend.

There was a long release of air as Eamon's shoulders dropped slightly in defeat. The Arl's sigh was both equally terrifying for its disturbance of the silence, and relieving as it slowly pushed all the tension away from the hall. He looked over the small elven mage with an eye of dissatisfaction and eventually said in a weary tone “I don't suppose you are giving me much of a choice.”

Amralime smiled, almost convincingly nice, if not for the very obvious danger his calming eyes now hid “I'm not giving you a choice at all.”

Jowan almost blanched at the utter amount of authority his little Amral was using. The elf had always had a problem with knowing where he stood when around power (forgetting that around Greagoir had gotten him thrown in isolation more than once throughout his life at the Circle). He could see Tegan bristle up and Jowan winced in preparation for the yelling that the Bann was about to release, but Eamon's hand was quick to come up, silencing his younger brother before he could lose them all their heads. It was enough to clear the sudden chill from Amralime's gaze. The Arl's eyes were a little tight around the edges, but he seemed to have more or less accepted that this was how things were going to turn out.

“Very well.” He intoned, nodding to his guards, who reluctantly stepped away from the blood mage's sides “Jowan, I hereby turn you over to the Warden's custody. May you find atonement in saving this land from the Blight.”

Jowan couldn't help but to find that he felt a bit struck at the declaration. He'd known that this was going to be the result the moment Amralime stated he was going to be conscripted but, somehow hearing that he really wasn't going to be executed just didn't seem to sink right into his head. He was... He was free? He was conscripted, but it was Amral who did the conscripting so...

Fingers – too small and warm to hold so much blood and power – twined gently around his own. Small hands, he knew those hands. Made too small to carry his, he'd always thought. Jowan realizes he had yet to say anything and he looks up to find himself staring into a familiar little face. There's the smile he remembers, small and sweet, like it's just a secret between the two of them. Those eyes he'd spent cold nights on the road fearing he'd somehow forget, they were so bright and dazzlingly beautiful and so very very warm. They hadn't at all changed.

Those eyes sparkled in mirth and that small hand squeezed his own. “Welcome to the Grey Wardens.”

Jowan decided to pretend along with everyone else and ignore the wetness under his eyes. His voice barely carried above of a whisper as he finally found it. “Thank you.”

The Arl cleared his throat and Amralime was quick enough to tuck his blood mage safely behind his back, now fully guarded in the centre of the party, and Jowan tried not to laugh at the endearing gesture “Now, back to the matter of the Landsmeet.”

And, perhaps it was the instant change in the elf's tone, suddenly all business and showing absolutely no threat to the men around him, that resulted in Eamon's full support. Maybe it was the fact that this Alistair fellow still stood by Amral's side, despite his obvious ties to Eamon himself. There was a gleam of respect in the old man's gaze, as they carried on about their plans, long into the night. Amralime was a formidable foe, and possibly a little mad. He could be terrifying with only a few simple words and that may just be what they would need in the days to come.


End file.
